Silent Story
by Kage NoTenshi
Summary: A tiny peek into Seto's past...(one shot)


This is primarily the fault of my #3 muse, Seto. He moved in even if I didn't (and still don't) want him, and now spends his time invading my fanfics and fanart. Yamanaka Keiko is mine, but I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! Yu-Gi-Oh will be mine the day Seto and Otogi decided that maybe Jounouchi's a kitten instead

((^.))

He was in most of my classes in fourth grade, and I found him a strange boy. Kaiba Seto, son the great Kaiba himself. He wasn't exactly quiet, and yet he was. He lacked the meekness associated with being quiet and instead had more of a stony silence. Mostly, he stayed with his little brother Mokuba, silently watching while the little one played happily. One day, a few older boys made the mistake of teasing Mokuba and taking away the toy train he had been playing with. In a flash, Seto had flung himself on the bully, even if he was a head smaller, and was all but strangling him. Seto had always been a feared fighter; he usually managed to floor the other opponent within seconds, often without breaking a sweat. He gave the toy back to Mokuba.

Only I, quiet, shy, Yamanaka Keiko saw Seto run off like a wounded dog. Curious, I followed softly. He ran around a corner of the building. To my surprise, he curled up next to the wall and hid his face. I thought he was just going to stay there when I noticed something else. His shoulders trembled and strange, choked sounds forced their way from him throat. It took me a moment to realize they were sobs.

Slowly, I crept away, completely unnerved by the sight of the Stone Seto crying. Something was terribly wrong. I caught him after class. "Are you okay?" I asked.

His glare focused in on my like a laser sight, as if he was trying to read what I had seen. "Why do you ask?"

What could I say? To admit that I had seen him cry was out of the question. "I…I wanted to make sure," I stammered lamely.

"Hn." He watched as I left hurriedly, his eyes boring into my back. He knew.

Three days later, he snagged my elbow as I headed towards the bus stop. "You didn't tell anyone," he said simply.

"Tell them what?"

"You didn't tell them what you saw…at recess the other day."

I remembered then. "Of course I didn't!" I exclaimed. "Why would I??"

He gave a painful, crooked sort of half smile; his eyes so cold it made me shiver. "Things happen," he said softly. In an instant, the coldness was gone except for a harness around the edges. "Maybe I'll trust you in the days to come, Yamanaka Keiko." With that, he was gone.

A week later, we were playing kickball in gym class when I tripped and knocked him onto the ground. My arm hit his, but not all that hard. I recovered within seconds. To my surprise, it took him much longer to straighten. "Are you all right?" I asked, horrified.

"Yeah," he gasped out. "Don't worry." We resumed play, but I did worry. His eyes betrayed the pain he was experiencing, even though he said nothing. I wanted to see if I had left a mark, but he always wore a light jacket over his gym uniform, even on the hottest days. And the regular uniforms had long sleeves, so there wasn't even a chance for me to catch a glimpse then.

"Are you sure you're all right?" I persisted as we headed back to the locker rooms.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I…I had a bruise there from before."

The next week, I noticed he was limping slightly. No one else seemed to see it, though, so I said nothing. Besides, I could tell he tried to hide it. The limp went away soon, anyways, and I thought things would be okay. But a few days later, he wore his jacket collar up all day. While no one else paid attention, I saw the dark bruise on his jaw once when he turned his head. The day after, he had band-aids on his neck. 

I couldn't stand it any more. I found him before school as he waited with Mokuba. "You're hiding something, Kaiba. I know it," I told him bluntly. I don't want you to get hurt. I…" I faltered. He had turned his merciless, steely gaze on me. "Seto, please," I begged. "What's going on?"

He continued gazing at me. Mokuba had stopped his playing and was clutching his big brother's coat. His eyes were wide and fearful. 

"I'm just worried," I said softly.

Seto blinked and looked away. I was surprised to see tears threatening to spill over.

"I'm…sorry…" I murmured. "I didn't mean to…"

He turned to me suddenly, grasping my hand so savagely I thought the bones would snap. "Swear," he hissed through clenched teeth, "swear you won't tell anyone."

I gulped. "I'd never. I promise, Seto."

He relaxed abruptly, letting my hand drop. "Niisama," whimpered Mokuba.

"It's okay," he said softly. "She won't tell."

"You don't have to…" I started.

"I will," he said, slowly grasping the cuff of his sleeve. I gasped as he rolled it up. Crisscrossing on the back of his arm were welts interspersed with a couple bright bruises. 

"Seto…" I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight. "What happened?"

"My father…" he started, and then stopped. "The man who adopted me…" He choked up.

"He hurts you," I murmured unbelievingly. 

Seto nodded and blinked furiously.

"You should tell someone who can help you," I said.

He shook his head. "No! That's the last thing I want! They'll take us away and put us back in the orphanage! I can't risk losing Mokuba!"

I bit my lip. "I see."

A hot tear slipped unbidden from his eye and slid down his face. Mokuba looked upset too.

"I'm sorry!" I said. "I didn't want to…to…" I took a deep breath. "Oh, Seto!" I don't know why, but suddenly I flung my arms around the brothers. Scalding droplets ran down my neck as Seto cried silently. His fingers clutched my shoulder like I would slip away and leave him. Mokuba sniffled a little, but did not weep. He seemed unscathed and did not quite understand what was happening. It was Seto for whom my heart broke. He didn't know what it was like to be loved. The fact that my family was whole and happy made me feel almost guilty. It didn't seem right that he should have to go through all this alone. 

I had always thought that one feels most helpless when someone is causing you pain, and you can't defend yourself. It's not true. The ultimate feeling of helplessness is when someone you care about is being hurt, and you can do nothing about it. I learned it the hard way that day. Yet, somehow, because we shared a secret neither of us could change, we were friends. There were times when I desperately wished I could tell someone and get help, but my promise bound me to silence. 

Seto, however, actually seemed to benefit just from my knowing. Even though he still showed his cold front to everyone else, I saw the wall crumbling when we were together. Sometimes he would vent his frustration and tell me all that had happened. Other times, he was merely silent, watching time go by. He never cried again that I saw. 

If he were in the mood to pull the papers out, I would drill him on the lists and lists of statistics he had to memorize. He was brilliant, I found, underestimated only because of his silence. Other times, we played chess. He always beat me, of course, and by embarrassing margins, but I learned too. Besides, I found it interesting how he would lose himself in the strategies and forget the rest of the world. Maybe that's why I always lost so badly. I was rather scatterbrained, always letting my train of thought wander from idea to unconnected idea. It was the opposite of his incredible focus. 

Unfortunately, things could not last. I had to move away with my family, too far away. Our goodbye was tearless as we shook hands, but I saw the unshed pain in his eyes and felt how tight his grip was. I hugged Mokuba, and then straightened to walk away. As each step took us farther apart, my heart was sobbing. Seto's arms had been bandaged; I had seen the gauze when he raised his hands to grasp mine. 

Even though the years passed, I never forgot Kaiba Seto. I heard about him in the news sometimes, like when his father died. I saw pictures of the funeral. Maybe no one else saw it, or maybe I just knew better how to read his face, but I noticed that the sadness did not reach Seto's eyes though he bowed his head in mourning. Then, there were the articles on his astonishing duels and breakthroughs in technology. Yet never did he smile for the camera. I knew that his past wounds still haunted him…only I knew. Sometimes I wished with all my might that I could see him and be a listener while he talked. We never met again, though. I hope he'll remember his heart anyways, even if perhaps he no longer remembers me.

R&R


End file.
